


Fits of Passion

by ValentinaRose



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Anxiety, Awkward Sexual Situations, Humor, Jamilton - Freeform, M/M, On Hiatus, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-08-19 19:56:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8222962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValentinaRose/pseuds/ValentinaRose
Summary: Alexander Hamilton, even when laying in the arms of his dying mother, when a devastating hurricane destroyed his town, when his dear Eliza died with little Philip in her arms, he had been so sure of what to do. Now...? Well, it’s all Jefferson’s fault.ON HIATUS FOR THE FORESEEABLE FUTURE.





	1. The Hamiltons move uptown

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! So this story is something that my overly caffeinated brain thought up at 12 am, I shared the idea with a friend and now here we are. I hope you enjoy the story and please do leave feedback! 
> 
> Props goes out to my awesome editor, you know who you are.

  Alexander stood numbly in his bedroom, staring at the bed that always seemed inviting and enticing. Maybe it was just Betsey that was so enticing, he thinks to himself numbly, almost wincing as he thought of her for what seemed like the thousandth time. His glance then flickered over to his desk, noting at how messy it looked without his ‘Liza to help keep it orderly. Speaking of enticing memories and his desk…

 _“Alexander…”_ She’d always whisper to him as he worked on one of his countless pages or writings. Her hands sliding over his shoulders and fiddling with his cravat and quick to slide lower. The little minx would always then whisper in his ear hotly _“Come to bed, darling, take a break.”_ And a strong man Alexander was, with his Scottish blood running through his veins, but how was he to say no to his lovely wife?

 Alexander was abruptly brought out from this memory, and it was as if he could see the shadow of himself and Eliza at his desk, sharing such a sensual moment, disappearing right before his eyes. He turned to see who had broken the spell, a scowl marring his handsome yet tired and weary features, but when he saw who it was the scowl merely dropped into exhaustion and sadness. He smiled at Angelica half-heartedly, sitting down on the bed, his temples already aching with the early sensations of a headache. Alexander had to swallow a few time to get his voice working again, to keep out the weak tone that had been present for weeks now, ever since... “Is everything ready?” He couldn’t think about Eliza and his little poet, not today. Angelica then frowned at Alexander, her tired eyes showing concern.  They did that rather often when Alexander was in the room, he noted with a ghost of a smile on his lips. She then nodded and smoothed out the creases in her dress. “Yes. Everything is in order, Alexander. We are just waiting for you and then we shall take our leave.”

Alexander nodded and then he sighed deeply, forcing his body up again off the bed and onto his aching feet. “Angelica?” Alexander started, his tone hesitant. “Should I perhaps... Am I doing the right thing here?” He had been so certain just the previous day, convinced that leaving would be best for all of them. Moving uptown is what they needed. But he’d be leaving all these memories behind, watching Eliza teaching his children how to play the piano, to speak French. Their perfect picnics, the wonderful nights spent holding Eliza in his arms as he listened to his little Philip talk so passionately, just like his father.

Angelica stepped forward and smiled kindly, noticing his mind shifting. She put a hand on his arm, rubbing it soothingly as he stared at her silently. “Alexander, trust me. If this was a bad idea, I would have most certainly let you know.” Alexander let out the first laugh he had made in weeks, and it was nice to laugh again after another horrific period of tragedy in his life. It was odd, hearing the sound of his laughter echo through the room and not seeing Eliza grinning up at him.

 Alexander shook himself out of the thoughts plaguing him and plastered a smile on his face, sucking in a deep breath and nodding at that. “Alright.” His voice was stronger now, loud and confident, how it was like during a cabinet meeting where he and Jefferson usually had to be restrained from strangling each other. He pulled on his coat and then offered his arm to Angelica with a smile, listening to the sound of her fancy heels clacking against the hardwood floors as they slowly walked out with each other in arms.

 Alexander glanced around the room one last time and then, with a deep breath and finality in the gesture, closed the door behind him, listening to the sound resonating through the small house as he did so. He sighed, walking with Angelica down the stairs slowly. Running his hand down the smooth banister, smiling every time the banister showed off a mark, a memory to him. When John had accidentally chipped the fine wood with one of his toys, when Alexander accidentally scratched a box up the railing, Eliza reprimanding him…

 Once he had reached the doorway, he pushed open the large door, staring out to the park ahead of him and closing his eyes. He felt Angelica squeezing his arm and he looked back over at her, raising an eyebrow. Angelica looked at Alexander blankly as she stepped forward and whispered softly to herself “Look around, look around, at how lucky we are to be alive right now.”

She smiled at Alexander again and then took one step back. “She’s not gone completely, you know. She’s way too incredible and graceful to be forgotten from our memories. That’s how you remember her, and then you can move on.” Alexander smiled at that, an actual smile. Angelica always seemed to know what to say, how to act to make a person feel better, and here she was doing it again. “You’re right, of course.” He nodded to her and then slowly, but surely, walked down the steps, holding out his hand to Angelica.

Angelica had a smirk on her face as she all but glided down the stairs to the quaint little property and ignored his hand. “Of course I’m right.” She then glanced at a rosebush planted out on the front of the house and sauntered over to it, gently picking a rose and putting it in the buttonhole of his favourite green jacket, that Angelica and Eliza both seemed to love. He then felt a smirk appearing on his lips, teasing Angelica and putting on a faux Southern Belle accent.

“My my, Miss Schuyler, is this your way of trying to court me? Because if so, I have unfortunate news, for my heart belongs to another.”

Angelica laughed, but the sound was hollow, forced. Her heart wasn’t in the laugh, not like it usually is when she giggles and it sounds like a tinkering bell, catching the attention of everyone in the room. He missed _that_ laugh.

Alexander was broken out of his thoughts for what seemed like the umpteenth time that very day, by a carriage speeding up to their, no his house and stopping out the front. That was not the shocking part, oh no, it was who got out. ‘ _Washington…?’_ Alexander was perplexed as to why His Excellency would take the time to go visit Alexander, but as he watched Washington go around the other side of the carriage and help out a woman, Martha Washington, he was hit with an overwhelming wave of emotion. He gripped tightly onto Angelica’s arm and he felt his knees buckling.

He couldn’t believe this was real, his Eliza was dead, fucking George Eacker, how could he? He shot his Betsey, left her for dead while protecting little Philip in her arms, she was innocent and Eacker was walking a free man. As he felt his blood boiling he felt himself being picked up off the ground easily, and then someone wrapping two muscular arms around him cradling his head to their chest like a mother would with a scared and frightened child. Alexander felt the resolve he had been fighting for all these weeks, the mantra, a voice saying _Alex you gotta fend for yourself, your children, gotta stay strong_ , all but crumbled to the ground as he felt hot tears rolling down his cheeks, wetting the front of Washington’s shirt, neither men seemed to mind. “S-She’s gone, sir.” He whispered in a broken, wounded voice sounding like he had been the one who was shot.

Washington nodded and then he started rubbing Alexander’s back soothingly, attempting to calm down the younger man, but knowing that he needed this. Knowing Alexander, Washington thought to himself with a sliver of humour, he had been keeping this all bottled up. Just like when he lost Laurens. “I know, son. That’s why Martha and I are here, we came to wish you our deepest condolences on what happened, but to also help you through this time in any way we can.”

 Alexander felt himself nodding at that, closing his eyes tightly and focusing on controlling his breathing. He slowly but surely had his breathing returning to normal and the tears had stopped indefinitely. He wiped his eyes and then stepped back, nodding to George and then offering Martha a small smile, which she returned kindly.  “T-Thank you, Your Excellency.”

Washington just smiled at Alexander and let out a chuckle, shaking his head at that. “You know you can just call me George; you have been a trusted friend for many years.” Alexander then looked appalled at the very suggestion, which made Angelica and Martha giggle, Alexander noted.

 “Right and you can call me King George III, sir.”

Alexander quipped, a smirk gracing his lips. He chuckled softly as he saw Washington smile back and looking over at Martha in exasperation. Martha laughed and walked over to him gracefully, which made him admire her even more in a weird way. “Are you two ready to go? The children are already at your new property, Mr. Hamilton.” Alexander groaned at the thought of them being left alone with some poor maid and a couple of people when he looked back at Washington. “Well then, I think we should get there as soon as possible. My children are quite... energetic. I pity the fool who had to watch over them.”

Angelica giggled and then she nudged Hamilton playfully, looking at him with a smile on her face. “Well soon those fools are going to be us, so be careful with what you say, Alexander.” She teased him as she took Washington’s hand, as he helped her into the carriage. Alexander then looked at Washington blankly, stating to him. “You’re going to help me in, aren’t you?” Washington just looked at him with a polite smile on his face and offered his hand to Hamilton, who took it grudgingly and stepped in, snorting as he felt George kiss his hand.

Washington then helped Martha into the roomy carriage, and sat down next to her, a hand atop hers, Alexander observed. Alexander’s gaze then shifted to his house, as the carriage slowly departed. He watched as the house disappeared into the distance, and the streets of New York passed them by, busy and lively as ever as he thought to himself one of his other mantras. “ _In New York you can be new man…”_ And he could be. He can get through this, with Angelica and his children, Washington and Martha by his side, he would be back to normal in now time, fighting with Thomas Jefferson as Washington just looked incredibly exasperated with them both.

 

_That’s the American dream after all..._


	2. An Open Letter to The Fat, Arrogant...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you had asked Alexander Hamilton a month ago what he hated most in this world we are blessed to be on, living and prospering, he most likely would have replied with A) Thomas Jefferson or B) That motherfucking sleazy, Southern Secretary of State. But he realised that there was actually someone else. John Adams.

_Alright, so maybe it wasn’t all Jefferson's fault._

 If you had asked Alexander Hamilton a month ago what he hated most in this world we are blessed to be on, living and prospering, he most likely would have replied with A) Thomas Jefferson or B) That motherfucking sleazy, Southern Secretary of State. But he quickly realised something at an early age in his life. The hand that giveth can so easily take away. His mother dying as a young boy due to a fever, his cousin committing suicide, John losing his life after the Battle of the Combahee River in South Carolina, but losing Eliza… It scared him, he did not know what to do with himself. He was helpless, and alone, yet surrounded by so many faces. That is what he hated most in this world. Here, he now laid in his new bed, holding his oldest, dear Philip, in his arms and soothing him from another night terror about his mother and George Eacker, Philip trembling in Alexander’s arms and whispering.

“Papa, will we ever see mother again?”

A few years ago, he would have easily been able to say yes, but after years of being scorned by a supposedly merciful God, he could not be so sure. But he couldn’t hurt Philip with truths like that, even if he was nearly a man now. “I-I think so. But even without her here, I can tell you she loved you, Philip. She was so proud of her little poet. I know it.” Alexander had no idea where the certainty was coming from but it was soothing, for not only Philip but himself. Alexander was relieved when he saw a small smile appear on his son’s lips, illuminated by the moon peeking in through the curtains that were drawn.

 “Now get some rest, Philip. Your Aunt will not be pleased we were having secret talks into the night.” He teased lightly, his heart warming when he heard Philip’s deep chuckle as he turned onto his side, away from Alexander, whispering again.

“Thank you, Papa. I-I needed this.”

Alexander squeezed his son’s shoulder and then lied down onto his side also, facing away from Philip. “You never have to thank me for something like this Philip. I do believe it was just as therapeutic for me as it was for you. Now I repeat, get some rest. Angelica will tan my ass if she finds out we stayed up this damn late.”

He trailed off at the end, mostly muttering to himself before he eventually fell asleep with a smile on his face, listening to Philip’s laugh.

****

After the blur of getting all his children ready for another day with Aunty Angie, cooking breakfast and trying to convince the little ones that, “No, daddy can’t come with you, he has to handle business.” How he hated not being able to spend time with his children, especially with the fresh wound of their mother’s death. But he and Angelica had found a rhythm of sorts, she and he worked like a well-oiled machine, and the order in the house helped soothe the chaotic vibes that were present merely weeks ago. He sighed as he stood in front of a mirror and readjusted his cravat for the fourth time, before moving onto getting frustrated with his hair and deciding to just discard the infernal wig, leaving his long, unruly, and unkempt locks to hang loosely at his shoulders. Alexander did not have it in him to find an ounce of his being in which he cared about whether or not John Adams would gossip to others that

“Did you see the poor bastard? Can’t even make himself look acceptable for public appearances.”

He could just hear Adam’s annoying, snobbish laugh. Adams knew nothing of loss, and frankly, Alexander thought, if the fucker made one bad comment he’d be quick to lunge over the table and hurt him. Alexander then grabbed his glass off of his dresser and looked at the contents inside, the whisky looked rather decent, he’d have to compliment Jefferson on that, he thought grudgingly as he took a deep breath and downed the glass in one gulp. He could do this. He could get through countless men and women he did not even know stating stupid bullshit like: 

“Oh, Eliza… She was an amazing woman.”

 “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

 “I totally understand what you are going through. My third wife just left me!”

Hamilton nodded to himself in the mirror and shrugged his coat on, stepping out of the room with a renewed confidence as he walked down the stairs of his home and outside. He then got into the carriage and nodded to his driver, Jonathan, lovely man. Lovely eyes and that smile could just brighten up the darkest of Alexander’s moods. ‘Maybe that’s why Angelica likes him so…’

Alexander pondered as he drummed his fingers against his leg in an anxious manner. His spirits were lifted even further by watching the liveliness of New York, watching people converse and go about their every-day lives. It was intriguing to Alexander, observing people. It particularly comes in handy when knowing exactly what to use against a political enemy per se.

 Alexander hummed and then sighed softly as his carriage pulled up to the front of the damn place Jefferson had insisted on having for this little function. Washington just wanted something small but then Jefferson and his stupid magenta coat walk into the room and it ends up being three hundred people in a room talking about politics. It’s not safe, really. Alexander glanced over at Jonathan and all but begged and plead for the man to take him back home but the bastard just kicked him out of his own carriage and said he would be back in a few hours.

 ‘Knew I couldn’t have trusted that beautiful face. It’s always the pretty ones that want to stab you, just like Jefferson. Wait, what?!’ Alexander was shaken from his thoughts by Dolley Madison all but dragging him into the building. He had to admit, she was a strong yet terrifying woman. He admired her.

 So here Alexander was, sitting down on a pedestal in front of John Adams listening to him drone on about the importance of… something. He was more focused on watching a couple in the back having a particularly riveting conversation in the back. “No, James! You may not have sex with our maid!”

‘The lady could probably work on her whispering’, Hamilton thought, when he suddenly realised that every single eye in the room was suddenly on him.

“I-I’m sorry, what? I must have missed that.”

Alexander saw John Adams roll his eyes heavily before slowly and carefully annunciating his words like Hamilton was a little child. Honestly, that just made him want to strangle the fucker. “I said... I understand after all that has happened your mental state must be rather fragile, so listen up. I am deeply sorry for the loss of your wife Elizabeth, her death has been a major blow in this city, but what better situational circumstances instead celebrate my joining of the Federalist party, rather than mourning.” John Adams cheered, a few jeering along with him but Alexander was too focused on not snapping John’s neck in front of a crowd.

He felt himself standing up, his neck getting hot as he felt rage simmering in his veins, clenching his fingers before he just snapped.

“I knew not that your arrogance had reached levels that could stun even me, John Adams. You have done nothing for our country, you claim that I am in a vast international escapade with the British when you forget I fought alongside Washington himself. You would know not what I do, as you never show up to work, people have been talking about you with vexation since 1776, and you really have not done anything new since then. I care not if I kill my political career right now, John Adams. But I knew a much better John in the war, he is much more deserving than the position you are in. So you can sit your fat ass down somewhere else. How dare you stand where His Excellency one stood?”

Alexander’s jaw snapped shut with an audible sound, the room having gone completely silent as they listened to Alexander speak (yell) like a man possessed by Beelzebub himself, directly at John Adams.

 Alexander cleared his throat and then he turned as he felt a surprisingly gentle hand resting on his clothed arm. He turned and then blinked in shock as he saw that it was Thomas Jefferson’s gentle hand resting on his shaking arms, then he felt the taller man leading him away from the large crowd of onlookers and instead out to one of the back rooms, to the balcony.

He was just waiting to hear the Southerner’s smug voice belittling him for his outburst, breakdown, call it what you will. In contrary to his thoughts, however, Thomas started speaking in a soft voice to Alexander.

“Alexander, I know you have heard this speech from the mouths of countless people here today, but I wanted to let you know I understand. I am not offering my pity, instead, I am offering my support and understanding. I know not if you have heard this before, as I do not speak publicly about it, but I too lost my wife tragically. Martha was the light of my life, I could barely function without her.”

Hamilton listened to Jefferson talk with an astonished look on his face, having heard of the sparse details of Jefferson’s loss, but he was astonished to be connecting with the man he was infamous for feuding with. “I too, have lost children and know what that loss feels like. Even though Philip lived, I understand the turmoil you are experiencing.”

 Alexander could merely nod as he cleared his throat to remove the suspicious lump in his throat, looking up at Jefferson slightly warily. “Why are you doing this? Did John Adams put you up to this?, If so, I’ll bloody throttle the bastard.” Jefferson rolled his eyes to mask the look of hurt that flashed across his face for a brief second. “It has been many months since John Adams and I have been on good terms. I’m almost offended by that allegation, Hamilton.”

 Alexander couldn’t stop the smile from appearing on his lips as he and Jefferson slipped into their usual habit of bickering with the taller man.

“Oh sue me for questioning your motives, Mr I’m So Honourable.” Alexander rolled his eyes in a playful manner before he composed himself and turned serious. “I-I cannot go back out there, Jefferson. Even with your support, which still seems rather ambiguous and dubious, I have humiliated myself in front of hundreds. O’ Lord, I would not be surprised if my resignation is called for; I will be penniless again, with my children and I not having the means to go on, my name being sullied.”

He collapsed on the ground and his breathing spiked, tears blurring his vision as he clung onto Jefferson’s leg in a desperate manner. He heard someone sigh in resignation and squat on the ground before him, pulling him into their arms and holding him in their arms, waiting for the tears to stop, rubbing his back in a soothing movement. When Alexander looked up at Jefferson with tearstained cheeks, he realised that taller man really had no ulterior or ill motives, he merely wanted to help Hamilton through this. He wasn’t sure how to process that quite yet, so instead he gently nudged Jefferson away and stood up. His back cracked as he did so, and he tried to clean up his appearance, wiping his cheeks and fixing up his hair.

Jefferson rolled his eyes and stood up, straightening out his magenta colored coat before he spared Alexander a glance, looking at him through his peripheral vision. “Listen, Hamilton, I just… Instead of wasting your time with the drab parties I was forced to organise, you should be at home with your children. Before you argue, I know that you would rather be anywhere else than here, and I am willing to help you escape unnoticed.”

Alexander had a ghost of a smile on his lips, nodding as he finished fixing his appearance and faced the Secretary of State head on, chuckling. “You sound like you are speaking from experience there Jefferson.” He watched as Thomas just rolled his eyes and offered out his hand to Alexander, which he took after a moment’s hesitation. Jefferson scoffed as he opened the doors to the private balcony, looking around before he easily manoeuvred his legs and jumped onto the ground from the one story balcony.

“Oh shut up. And Hamilton? This doesn’t change things with us, I’m not going to sign your ludicrous, laughable plan for state debt.”

 Hamilton had a smirk on his lips as he managed to sit on the balcony and jump off, landing on the grass and on his feet, staggering slightly; gripping at Thomas’ offensively coloured coat to stabilise himself. “I had not expected anything else from the likes of you, Jefferson. Your views and ideologies block your mind from the intelligence that I’m sure is in there.” He fired back. He stepped a few inches back, brushing off his coat before he allowed Thomas to lead them both back to his carriage, bickering all the way.

 

Alright, so maybe it wasn’t all Jefferson's fault.


	3. The World Seemed to Burn…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, hey... I know, it's been like 3 months since I've updated this story. I was insanely busy with finals, then birthdays and Christmas but I am back and promise to update as regularly as possible. I hope y'all like this chapter, and I would love to receive any feedback at all, so just leave a comment of what you thought.

_The World Seemed to Burn…_

 

Alexander had always detested funerals. A celebration of the person’s life they’re supposed to be. A celebration of what they had accomplished, who they were. To Alexander, they were merely a reminder of how God had always been merciless and unrelenting in his life. First, his mother passed, goodness. He would never forget what it was like to have his mother holding him and whispering words of encouragement that intermingled with incoherent prayers to a God who would not listen, her breath stale with the early stench of death to only have her abruptly slump over and never draw breath again.

 

He would never get the image of stepping outdoors after hours, _or was it days?_ Once nightfall bled back into day he saw what remained of his home, his town. “ _It began about dusk, at North, and raged very violently till ten o'clock. Then ensued a sudden and unexpected interval, which lasted about an hour. Meanwhile the wind was shifting round to the South West point, from whence it returned with redoubled fury and continued so till near three o'clock in the morning. Good God! what horror and destruction—it's impossible for me to describe, or you to form any idea of it. It seemed as if a total dissolution of nature was taking place. The roaring of the sea and wind—fiery meteors flying about in the air—the prodigious glare of almost perpetual lightning—the crash of the falling houses—and the ear-piercing shrieks of the distressed, were sufficient to strike astonishment into Angels.”_ **(1)**

He still recalled his quill scratching against his parchment, writing almost manically as if he was against time itself.

 

He would never forget the moment he walked into his cousin’s room, his feet dragging on the ground as his hand throbbed from the countless hours of ceaseless writing. He remembers to this day, turning the old door handle and glancing around to see blood and brain matter splattered on the walls of the old house. Peter had been devastated as the failures of many businesses burdened his already fragile mind and broke him.

The blood stained the sheets as well as his hands for hours, no matter how many times Ledja **(2)** insisted he do as such. He recalled sitting down next to his brother, barely even a month later, as he stared at a piece of paper in his hands. James Lytton’s will, their uncle.

 

He had never felt utter despair like that again, and prayed, ‘ _figuratively’,_ that he would never feel that emotion washing over him ever again.

 

God seemed to truly have a personal vendetta against Alexander, as on the day of August 27th 1782, Alexander lost his lover, best friend and confidant that day. He recalled sitting in Lafayette’s **(3)** quarters and sitting in the Frenchman’s lap, sobbing against his shoulder as Lafayette wrapped strong arms around him and whispered condolences to him. He had never spoken to John much after his marriage, he never seemed to receive letters back. Still, as his love for his Betsey burned bright, he felt another hole in his heart form at the loss of a lover. A lover who was compassionate, never outspoken, almost idiotically courageous, but yet, so intelligent.

 

Alex had spent many nights in a tent with John, the canvas of the tent wildly rustling as the wind howled outside; the chill in the air being abated by their close contact as secret kisses were stolen through the night, whispered sweet nothings drifting along with said howling wind. And yet that day, he was with his other friend who had returned to America after hearing the news. He couldn’t help but long for his other friend instead.

 

And still, here he was at his dear Betsey’s funeral wondering _God, what have I done with my life and what did it get me? Still, that doesn’t wipe my children’s tears and the years away. I’m here to stay as their father fully._ **(4)** He swore that to himself. To his Eliza. He would be the father they deserve, a father who was not absent and was actively supporting them. Goodness, if he turned into _his_ father, Betsey would rise from the dead just to throttle him!

That particular thought made Alexander chuckle, which was an odd sight really. To be kneeling at his wife’s fresh grave placing flowers there and chuckling, well, that was a reason to cause concern, that was for sure. 

But Hamilton did not mind. After the incident with John Adams and publically humiliating himself, he was consoled by the thought that all that mattered to him were his children and Angelica. Angelica had officially moved into the Hamilton Grange with him and the children. The kids finally had begun to adjust to their new home. The older children were seemingly okay on the surface, watching out and helping Angelica and Alexander with mundane tasks such as bathing, food preparation.

 

However, it never failed to break his heart when he heard Philip slip into his room, curl up beside Alexander and sleep there. It never failed to hurt him when he heard his dearest Angie **(5)** sobbing out her mother’s name in her sleep and Hamilton would have to go in there, wake her delicately and carry her into his room, allowing her to curl up by him as Philip slept through it all, usually. Occasionally, he would wake and sing beautiful duets of songs with her, and if Alexander was coherent enough he would sing along, careful not to wake the little ones or Angelica.

 

The younger children were understanding that their mother was gone. That much was clear, but they couldn’t understand the concept of death, couldn’t understand the fact that George Eacker had murdered her. They still called out to Betsey, occasionally. Whenever that happened, Alexander and Angelica would glance over at one another with unshed tears in their eyes as one of the older kids tried to divert the conversation.

 

And so here Alexander was, now sitting down in front of his wife’s grave, staring at the ground that had been so recently filled in after his wife’s cold, lifeless body had been put six feet under. “I know I didn’t deserve you, Betsey…” Alexander began.

 “I know that you would disagree with me there, but it is true. You deserved a husband that was less frantic, more doting and devoted to you and the children. But I tried my best and apparently to you that was enough. So, thank you. Thank you for staying here by my side. I promise I will carry on your legacy, tell our children of how beautiful and sweet their mother was. How charming and intelligent you were. Thank you for the years you stood by my side protecting my name, raising my children. For taking in a bastard orphan with no dwellings and giving him a home and a family. That was enough.”

Alexander leant forward, kissing the cool marble as if giving his wife one last kiss.

 That always happened with them, Alexander would always be rushing away from the mansion in a hurried manner, always giving his wife one last parting kiss on her beautiful rosy lips. Oh, how he wishes he could have just held her in his arms one last time and loved her properly. He deeply regretted not doing so. Most things were so rushed in their marriage. All for what, a legacy? _Legacy. What is a legacy?_ It’s planting seeds in a garden you never get to see. _Eliza, your legacy lives with me, my dear. Best of Wives and Best of Women._ **(6)**

Alexander sighed softly to himself and readjusted the flower bouquet laying at her grave, standing back to observe the flowers. The bouquet is rather original, not often seen together like this. A bouquet of calla lilies with one single rose in the centre summed up his Eliza. A beautiful, charming and magnificent lady who was so passionate on the inside. She rarely showed that side of herself, but Alexander had loved it. _She had always been a true romantic at heart._

 

Alexander looked around the outside of the church and spotted Angelica, smiling ever so slightly as she talked along with her father, the man Alexander owed so much to.

 

Alexander slowly made his way through the cemetery, glancing over at every grave, every message, every loved one as he slowly made his way back to his sister and father-in-law. He smiled and placed his hand on Angelica’s shoulder, looking towards her fondly. “Thank you, the service was… Just incredible, she would have been very humbled by it.” He swallowed the lump in his throat, looking over at Philip.

He truthfully hadn’t see the man since a few days before the incident occurred, they had been so busy working out the final details of his plan for a national bank that they had barely talked two words about his lovely daughter. “I… Words escape even I in this moment, Mr. Schuyler. I could not ever say I was deserving of your daughter, Philip, but I thank you for allowing me into your family with open arms. What happened to your daughter, my wife…” He cast a sideways glance over to Angelica.

 “Your beloved sister, is worse than any fabled Shakespearean tragedy. I am used to the pain of loss, but that does not make it any more bearable, I am afraid. But in this time of need, we must unite as a family. It is very important for us to keep the ties, the bonds, close to us.”

Angelica suddenly let out a small chuckle and playfully nudged Hamilton in the ribs, making him raise an eyebrow in question and shy away from her elbow.

 “You know,” she drawled, a slight smirk gracing her lips. “For a man supposedly at a loss for words, that was beautiful. You have a way with words, Mr. Hamilton.” She teased him, reminding him of a night so long ago where she had said something similar, the night they met, and the night his life had changed.

 “I do believe my dear, Angelica, that you are getting forgetful in your old age.” He could not help himself but quip back to her and tease her, for it was always fun to watch her challenge him. “I remember you saying something like that to me many moons ago.”

 Angelica let out a scoff, rolling her eyes openly at Hamilton and then she raised an eyebrow at that. “I sincerely apologize Hamilton, but which one of us wholeheartedly refuses to admit to his real birthdate? And perhaps lied about said birthdate to get into King’s College to study, hm?” **(7)**

Philip let out a chuckle, interrupting the atmosphere of playful banter that he and Angelica seemed to create so often when they spoke with one another. “I do believe she has a point there, Mr. Hamilton. But I suppose it is time to get back inside and thank everyone for coming, wouldn’t you agree?"

Alexander then sobered up a little bit, all traces of humor and joyfulness returning to his usual careful mask he put on every day, so it seemed like. He could not show weakness to anyone, that would bring about his downfall. What would his children have then? Eliza’s legacy would be forgotten, tarnished by the dirt of his sin, his downfall. He shook himself out of such morbid thoughts and nodded politely at Philip as well as Angelica. “You may go pay your wishes and respects to Eliza. I know you were waiting for me to have my last moment with her and I am grateful for that, but you both deserve a moment alone, as well. I will be quite alright thanking everyone on my lonesome.” 

Angelica nodded slowly, holding her elbow out for her father to grip on as she smiled sadly at Hamilton, she seemed to put that expression on every day like his mask. “Very well, Alexander. But if you need us, you know where we will be.”

Alexander waved them off and watched them for a moment as they strolled together slowly down the stone path that led them to Eliza. Suddenly, Hamilton felt himself tearing up. The moment was a cruel juxtaposition to another moment so long ago **.**[ _I remember that night, I just might (rewind), I remember that night, I just might (rewind), I remember that night, I remember that_ _—_](https://genius.com/Lin-manuel-miranda-satisfied-lyrics#note-7856875) **(8)** _God, he remembered their wedding and the evening of it just like it occurred yesterday_.

 

Eliza stood where Angelica was now, he remembered her slowly walking down the staircase of the Schuyler mansion, her father and her side by side. Alexander was essentially nervously waiting in the front room, and when he set eyes on her… She was special. And now, as he turned and looked at her grave, it was still something special. He remembered the party afterwards, Lafayette was especially rambunctious but Peggy had been rather taken by his bold words. Even if his dear Laurens had to translate it all through a drunken slur. He had truly been happy in that moment. He hadn’t had many moments like that, but every moment that was connected to his wedding, he had good connotations with.

 

Alexander hummed, he was fairly certain it was an old French song that Lafayette had been rather fond of as he walked back into the church and began to thank people individually, shaking various hands, kissing ladies’ gloves, until he eventually sighed and collapsed on one of the church pews. He frowned as he felt a large figure, a man, sitting down next to him. He frowned to himself even more as he heard the man sigh, now noticing an intriguing smell to him. He recognized even that slight smell of lemongrass and something inexplicably expensive. Probably French. Alexander then sucked in a breath as he heard a very familiar southern drawl reach his ears, looking up to see the somber Virginian dressed in something other than a hideous magenta coat.

 

“Alexander, I hope that today we could put aside our political disagreements for this moment.” Thomas smiled sadly and then he held out flowers to Alexander. Alexander’s jaw dropped and he just gaped at Thomas, who just continued in a slightly nervous manner. “All these men and women are giving flowers to you in Eliza’s name, so I wanted to give _you_ these to offer my sincerest condolences.” **(9)**

 Alexander chuckled and then grabbed the flowers, looking down at them and his heart stopped for a second. “I-I… These are my favorite flowers, Thomas. How did you find these? They grow in Saint Nevis; I have not seen them since I was a boy…” He trailed off, staring at the flowers before smiling softly and pulling him into a small hug, whispering to him again. “Thank you for the flowers, and for coming to pay your respects to my late Betsey. I hope that you did enjoy listening to others that are not me speak for once.” He joked weakly, watching as Thomas rolled his eyes.

“As much as it wounds me to admit it, you were easily the best speaker here today. Your words brought tears to my eyes and made me feel emotions I had not felt before.” He said seriously before continuing.

“I did not come here just to give you flowers, or to pay my respects to your beautiful late wife. I come to you as a man who is all too understanding and familiar with loss and the gentle caresses of death, who wishes to help aid you in any way that is within my power to do so. I am your most humble and obedient servant.”

Alexander was thankful he was already sitting down when Thomas was speaking to him, and then he chuckled breathlessly. “You needn’t go out of your way Thomas.” _When did he start calling him Thomas?_ “But I believe I may definitely take you up on the offer of you helping me. I-I am rather a mess right now. But I will admit, the flowers have brightened my day incredibly.”

 Thomas laughed, the sound resonating throughout the large church and brightening up the negative atmosphere of the room as Alex kept talking, a grin on his lips. “And I do confess, it is refreshing to talk to someone who isn’t prattling on and on about how sorry they are, or about stupid stories I have heard but a thousand times. It gets immensely tiresome after a while. ”

Thomas then casually leant back against the pew, lounging like a cat as his trademark smirk returned to his face. “You’re welcome then.”

 Alexander threw his head back and laughed until he had tears streaming down his face, clutching his sore stomach. What Thomas had done was truly was not that funny, but in actuality what he had begun to do was help the sadness and the sorrow ease a little in his heart, and that was what was fueling Alexander’s elation. Or perhaps it was Thomas’ indignant expression after he inquired what was so funny and Alexander has quipped back with a simple “Oh, just your face.”

 

Historians will never know.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1)- Part of Alexander Hamilton’s letter to a local Reverend in August of 1772, who then had the letter published in the Royal Danish American Gazette on September 6th, 1772. This letter was his ticket to America, and to the rest of his life. 
> 
> (2)- Ledja was supposedly a mistress to Peter Lytton, Alexander’s cousin. You can read about her a little bit her here: http://publius-esquire.tumblr.com/post/69550435201/after-rachel-died-her-sons-were-placed-under-the.
> 
> (3)- Listen friends, it’s hard to keep the equivalence of historical accuracy and fictional writing on the same level. For this whole story, some historical accuracy will have to be sacrificed for the betterment of the plot. Lafayette was back in France when John died but for this, he’s chilling in Eagleland (America). 
> 
> (4)- This little excerpt comes from the cut song from the musical, called “Congratulations.” It’s such a good song, I’m sad Lin cut it but I see why he did so. You can find it on YouTube, if you wish to listen to it.
> 
> (5)- Angie, better known as Angelica was indeed a real child of Hamilton and Eliza’s. She is referred to as being clever and talented like her namesake, Angelica Schuyler. Sadly, after the death of Philip, whom she was very close to, she suffered a permanent mental breakdown as she was unable to handle the news of his death.  
> 
> (6)- Why yes, I have made it my mission to reference the musical as many times as possible. Obviously, I own no rights or anything to these lyrics. I just like them kiddies.
> 
> (7)- Historians don’t actually know whether Hammy was born in 1755 or 1757. Some believe he was born in 1755 but changed it so he would appear younger and receive a scholarship and study. So I went with 1755, meaning Angelica is only one year younger than him.
> 
> (8)- Yes, I did just compare “Satisfied”, an already kind of sad song about their wedding to Eliza’s death. It happens. 
> 
> (9)- Yo shout out to Katy for A) editing this and B) choosing a flower so TJeffs could be hella gay, you’re doing God’s work kid.


	4. A/N: wow i'm a shitty writer sorry

So I feel like I owe all of you who click on this story an apology. I started this before I entered senior school in high school, and I simply don't have the time to write like this anymore. I've also had some problems with sick family members, but still, that's a shit excuse. When inspiration strikes again, I may add another chapter. I hope y'all understand. Thank you by the way for everyone who's read this! There's one thousand people who've read this, gosh diddly darn. Thank you again, guys gals and non-binary pals!


End file.
